the cake the baby threw up on

o foul cake! hideous abomination! creature of deceit and destruction!

how could you do this to me? you were the apple of my eye, the dream of my heart! you were my one, pathetic attempt to deviate from a standard dunkin heins mix cake!

you were supposed to impress people!

o how bitterly my heart dost churn, knowing my former naivete for the foolishness it truly was. how darest i have thought that i, the Cake Burninator, could possibly design a creative cooking project that wouldst appear remotely appetizing?

it seemed a small enough risk. you were formed merely by combining a fudge cake and a vanilla cake recipe in the same bunt pan. chocolate on bottom, vanilla on top. i guarded you jealously whilst you baked in the oven, checking every two minutes to make sure you didst not boil up like the wrath of G-d and smoke on the oven floor (witness hershey's chocolate cake c, aka 'elana's birthday cake, z"l.)

once you had been forged in that murderous oven, i watched you cool, lovingly, on the kitchen counter, admiring your ingenous bands of vanilla and fudge which, admittedly, i had no idea were going to turn out that way, but could still claim credit for. how tasteful you looked! how martha-stewart-esque! how proud my mother would be of my innate cooking sensitivities!

but then - o wicked day - alas, for in my conceit i didst decide that my G-d granted success was a sign that i could then be trusted to create my own frosting. o ruinous idea! o stupid brother, who refused to be satisfied with the parve big jar o' choco-frosting we bought at the grocery store! no, he had to have vanilla frosting! listen bubkes, just because it's your birthday doesn't mean you get the right to encourage your mad sister with reckless baking suggestions.

but heedst my inner warning i did not, nor didst i wait for the return of my mother from the grocery store - thus be the fate of all the laughably inept who rally their courage in vain. flipping through the Huge Purple Book of Every Kind of Kosher Food Recipe Book, i didst discern the perfect white-frosting recipe for my brother's birthday cake. and - o woe! o senseless tragedy! - we had all the ingredients. then not knowing what was to befall to me didst i gather the confectionary sugar and soy milk and create the most hideous layer-cake frosting that has ever been glimpsed by the eyes of man.

for lo! - it was grainy and papier-mache colored and clung not to the sides of the cake, but slid off into a murky mushed-newspaper-tinged puddle at the bottom of the plate. and it didst obscure the beautiful grand-canyon innate striping of my marvelous creation, concealing it in glumps and glops of what the uninformed eye of my eldest brother observed to be 'baby vomit,' whilst i myself did think it looked more like spider barf.

o awesome day! o cataclysmic cake! what have i done to deserve this?